


If Fate were to Fray

by cosmicchai



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Be Nice to Clint Barton, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Fluff, Kid Loki, Loki Needs a Hug, Loki Redemption, M/M, Redemption, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Tags May Change, To Be Edited, Warnings May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-05-17 09:32:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5863993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicchai/pseuds/cosmicchai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beneath the branches of Yggdrasil, sit three sister goddesses - the Norns. Their delicate hands work nimbly spinning the threads of fate. The sisters decide to tie up some loose ends as one thread threatens to unravel everything.</p><p>Edit: This work is extremely slow in updating. I don't know if it'll ever be complete, but what I have so far could be considered a stand alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, if you don't speak Old Norse, then you might need this. If you do, that's frick'n awesome.
> 
> Glossary:  
> Miǫtviðr: Measure-tree. Tree which measures extent or limits of the world, tree which metes out fate.  
> Almr: Elm or cedar tree.  
> Eik: Oak tree.

Beneath the branches of Yggdrasil, sit three sister goddesses - the Norns. Their delicate hands work nimbly spinning the threads of fate. Some are able to see the destiny the sisters have spun, though that is not to say they will be so.

“Tis simply not done sister Verdani.” Argues the goddess of past.

“No, sister Urdr. Has not been done, though when have we tolerated such work as this?” The goddess of present, pinches a thread and pulls it taut for her sister’s to see. “Never have we seen a more tattered thread. Tis our doing.”

“You mean to soothe this fraying? You shall alter the fate of Ragnarök!” The goddess of future follows the thread, pulling it across her palms as if to try soothe it herself.

“Aye sister Skuld, tis exactly what I intend.” Skuld and Urdr share a glance before nodding in agreement.

“We see, we see.”

“Look here sister, a new thread. Bind it with that of old and together they will be strong.” Skuld cries in delight.

“Indeed.” Verdani hooks a delicate finger under the new thread. “Sister Urdr, relinquish the spindle.”

“With pleasure, sister.” The three sisters smile as they continue their work, amongst the roots of the tree of life. Content with their solution and appeased by the return of their peaceful routine.

***

“Not even the Norns can console him, he is being insufferable!” The boy whines, as his mother approaches. Her long flaxen hair is loose about her shoulders and looks as soft as the silken fabric of her light blue gown.

“Hush Thor! Your brother is being no less tolerable than you when told to wait for a meal.” The boy grins at this. Even through his innocence Thor recognises his follies, and yet, makes no attempt to apologise for his impatience. “At which, I suggest you go and join your father for the feast.” Thor nods and takes off on the fleeting foot of a hungry young boy. Frigga smiles sweetly at his enthusiasm, before gently rapping against the door of her youngest son’s quarters. There is no answer, and so she enters on her own concern. He doesn’t seem to have stirred at her intrusion and the young boy - much smaller and paler than his brother - remains sitting, staring, unmoving at the glowing embers of the fireplace. Instead of approaching him, Frigga walks toward her son’s bed. Her footfalls are soft and are amongst only three sounds in the room. The second the sound of the fire wood. A piece breaks and falls further into the ash, a dull shushing thud that nearly veils the third sound. A faint sniffling that Frigga is sure her eldest son, Thor, would not have heard over his own enthusiasm. Slowly Frigga pulls down the furs, to reveal a small tear stained face.

“You shouldn’t goad your brother, he only means well.” She strokes a few dark tendrils of hair away from his eyes, before cupping his cheek and taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

“He was only here to gloat.” Comes the boy's response, voice muffled on a sigh. Frigga resumes stroking Loki’s hair.

“Even so. He will not understand your feelings if you have him talking to an illusion.” Frigga glances briefly at the Loki by the fireplace as it dissipates. The real child lets his eyelids fall shut as more tears threaten to tumble down his cheeks.

“It’s not fair mother.” The boy whimpers. “Thor’s miǫtviðr grew so fast and already he has found his intended. Have the Norns forgotten me?” Frigga’s eyes grow wide. She knows the fate to which her youngest is tied, she has seen it herself and the truth was not at all reassuring.

“No.” Her placid expression returning. She pats the bed where the boy’s hand is folded around himself and he retrieves it carefully, revealing his wrist. “Your miǫtviðr will grow with time. As it grows, it bodes the moment that you will meet your intended. Your brother’s is full grown, as today was the day he was fated to meet his.” Loki nods. He had seen the way his brother’s eyes had locked to Sif’s, the understanding lighting a childish amusement within them. The branches of their miǫtviðr growing together where their hands met.

“I know…” The boy whispers. “…but mine is still just a seedling.” Frigga traces the frail silver lines on the boy’s hand. There she saw the thin, pale wisps of roots. Twisting around his wrist, intertwining with the boy's veins and reaching toward his heart; and but a single stem, like a barb, extending across the back of his forearm and ending just before his wrist. Just a handful of faint leaves curled into themselves waiting to unfurl. When she speaks again her voice is motherly soft.

“An almr surely grows much swifter than an eik, but the eik is stronger and lives longer still.” Her explanation is not dishonest - the strongest bonds are those which take longer to grow - though she fears the fate she has foreseen. She wants there to be someone for her youngest; but what she had seen was the darkest of despairs. Misery and chaos by the likes of which could only be consoled by one’s intended and yet, is only possible through their absence. The boy opens his eyes to look hopefully up at his mother’s face. Frigga knows it’s inescapable. Loki will lose his intended; and in turn, will be lost.

***

The iridium grey lines almost floored him. Tony had replaced the last palladium core just thirty-six hours ago with the new element; and the lines of heavy-metal poisoning that coated his veins, had receded. His mind raced for answers, for possibilities, before settling to the undeniable conclusion that this had to be something else entirely. The lines were thicker, smoother. They appeared more organic. Unlike the marks that meant his body was dense with toxic mineral; and more like streams of water - that had caught the light - were running over his skin. They appeared to begin at his collarbone and then reached both up and down his chest. The upper divisions splaying out across to his shoulders, the mass of which twisted around his neck. The lower tentacles twisting downward and finally coiling, nestling, around the arc-reactor.

“Jarvis, you seeing this?” Tony asked, his voice catching on the sudden dryness of his throat. He turns every which way whilst examining the lines in the mirror.

“Sir, you seem to have acquired some body art.” His AI replied, with a little too much triviality.

“Hardy-har, I want medical scans yesterday.” He counters.

“Already at seventy-nine percent, sir.”

“Sorry Jarv, couldn’t hear you through all the smug.” Tony pulled on one of his Black Sabbath shirts from the ’99 reunion tour.

“Perhaps then sir, you ought not to let your smugness get quite so loud.”  _'Smartass'_ Tony chuckles to himself as he throws two finger guns up at the nearest sensor.

“You keep me on my toes honey.” 

“As do you on mine. Figuratively.”

Tony smirks, lifting his shirt, for another brief look at the silvery filaments. Could it be something related to the new element? It wasn’t corroding like the palladium had, that was the entire reason for it in the first place.

“Sir, all vital signs are normal. You are in perfect health.” Tony had heard the saying; _‘If it isn’t broken, don’t fix it._ ’ Even had his own version; _‘If it isn’t broken, don’t fix it - make it better.’_ Or rather, that was his father’s. Just one more thing he had inherited from the great Howard Stark. Unlike his father though, Tony didn’t mind leaving things a little not perfect sometimes. Things that were perfect because they weren’t. His bots for example, their quirks made them faultless. There were only two things his father never attempted to fix or improve. Tony was the first and had been deemed either too broken or too unimportant to fix. The second was the toxic purpose Tony had also inherited. This was amongst the things Tony deemed not worth fixing or bettering. He had discarded that purpose almost completely and was attempting to make some small semblance of a new purpose for himself. After all, that was what Tony did best - created entirely new things. If those new things or his new purpose ended up a little not perfect, Tony thought that he was fine with that. Looking at the shimmering veins, he couldn’t help but think that he was fine with this too.

***

He was falling endlessly, through the turbid space of the void and through the chaotic dissonance within his mind. With no point of reference, he may as well be trapped there - was trapped there and trapped nowhere. Forever falling. He saw realms born and die with the light of a thousand suns. Glorious and eternal until they were gone. Still he fell. Hurtling toward nothing. His existence was his own afterthought. He was purposeless. He wished it would end, knew it never would, considered that it already had.

“No Loki.” His grip had been strong, until he let his gaze slip to his hand. To where his miǫtviðr wound around his fingertips, it was almost fully grown. His intended would never want him. Not with his filthy blood. A failure - and a monster. He knew Thor had witnessed the moment he steeled himself. The same moment any hope of being accepted slipped from his eyes. It wasn’t enough that he begged Loki to spare himself. If there was but one small purpose he could fulfil, he would be sure that his intended would be spared the humiliation and torment of ever meeting him. He let go.

He struggles against the disorientation to find his arm. He knew not how much time had passed and expected to see his miǫtviðr but a shadow of what it had been. The silver lines would remain always but he expected to find the gnarled, ghostly branches of a fate long since dead. He shouldn’t have looked. What he saw was much more torturous than the wraithlike remains of a neglected bond. Loki’s laugh was sharp. The only noise he had heard - other than the eerie screeching voices of the passing stars - since his fall began. His miǫtviðr was far from dead. No, contrary - it thrived. It grows still as he falls. He had failed even at this attempt to fulfil some last small resolve. The one soul he could not stand to do an injustice and he had failed them. He would meet his intended yet.

***

Tony didn’t know what he had expected. What he did know, was that he was going to make an entrance. What he expected didn’t matter. What did matter, was that he lived up to expectations.

“Hey J. pick a song. Something - me.” Tony allowed himself a small chuckle when “Shoot to Thrill” began mid-way through.

“Agent Romanoff. You miss me?” Evidently he was glad he had pulled his own expectations. There was nothing that could have prepared him for what he saw. He knew the old war stories all too well and yet the legendary super solider had been thrown to the ground by the intergalactic threat, Loki. Who - while Tony stood over him with every weapon the suit had, aimed and ready - looked, almost reluctant.

“Make your move reindeer games.” When he’d said it he hadn’t even considered the possibility that surrendering was a viable move for the would-be god. Suspicious, didn’t even begin to cover it but instead of analysing it all too much, Tony found himself admiring the way Loki - even while conceding - did so looking dignified and with no less style than Tony would have himself.

***

The Midgardian music had briefly distracted Loki but after being hit and commanded to yield or attack, he was glad for it. He had planned from the beginning to surrender, though had he done so immediately, it would have exposed his plan. That and Loki wanted to showcase at least a glimpse of this strength. He would have fought longer though this, Iron Man, gave him the perfect opportunity to stop. Also the man was the first Midgardian he’d met who’d showed so much finesse. He wasn’t unlike himself - albeit just a mortal - Loki could see how undoubtedly well versed he was at commanding the masses and Loki was confident there were many who followed him. How very satisfying it will be when Loki is the one to command him.

Though it was not the man of iron’s intention, he had given Loki a glimpse. The man had landed, breaking stone, in the very position Loki would have him submitted to. This crimson and gold amour, all right angles, pledging loyalty to him. These petty little mortals, with so little of a connection to Yggdrasil that not even miǫtviðr would grow upon their skin. He would have them all at his command, and soon. It would have to be soon. His own miǫtviðr was very close to full grown and Loki would not be a failure when his branches met that of his intended. No, he would have one of the nine realms to present to them, he would be a ruler - a king.

***

“There is no throne. There is no version of this where you come out on top - because if we can’t protect the earth, you can be damn well sure we’ll avenge it.” Tony downs his drink. Hoping that with all his quipping the calm, smooth, action would quell any potentially fatal responses from the god. Despite Loki’s slow, idle, movements; He was not at all reassured as the Asgardian moves toward him. 

“How will your friends have time for me, when they’re so busy fighting you?” Loki was going to savour this moment, he knew the man was relatively defenceless. He had asked him question after question, a test, to see if this mortal’s greatest asset was his amour, or if he truly had intelligence. The man of iron had not disappointed. Loki recognised the tactic he himself had used many times, the same that earned him the title of silver-tongue. The way the mortal used his words was almost elegant, if only he didn’t taint it with such crude bantering.

Tony braced himself as he heard the spear’s charge. Nothing. Again and all that was heard in the room was the metallic ring as the deadly sharp tip, touched the glass of the arc-reactor. Obviously the alcohol or perhaps nerves had loosened his tongue. Why had he said anything more? Why hadn’t he just let the god sit and tinker and bought more time? He saw not anger but frustration, disgust, mar Loki’s features and then he couldn’t breathe. His mind blanked. He thought of nothing and yet noticed everything, as his mind raced for a way out. Everything from the year of the scotch he’d just drank, to the small silver veins branching out from underneath Loki’s vambrace.


	2. Chapter 2

Loki looked deep into the mortal’s amber eyes, even now defiance was strong within them as he was still trying to pry Loki’s crushing grasp from his neck. Loki knew that without the influence of the sceptre, he would never control the man of iron. It spoiled Loki’s mood terribly. The man he had wanted most to kneel before him. To have that sharp wit at his disposal, would not only have been amusing but beneficial. Midgard’s hero. The only man to have stood up to Loki, to have made him surrender. The Iron Man’s obedience, to see their only hero fall, would have quashed the populace’s faith. Now there was only one means to that end - the man of iron, had to die.

His grip is enough that the mortal can barely breathe but not so much so that he’d pass out. Loki doesn’t increase it. Something keeps his hand rigid, his fingers locked in place against Tony’s throat. The man of iron claws somewhat desperately at his wrist but Loki is distracted. Watery silver reflections dance from somewhere to fall across the mortal’s face. They would not have diverted Loki’s attentions if it weren’t for the way they projected their liquid etherealness. Loki was all too acquainted with such light, he had spent his time watching them from afar as he fell between the seams of the realms. It was like glimpsing the world through the wrong side of a looking glass. Through the tears into the nine realms, Loki had seen the same light threaded between the very fabrics of the cosmos. It was the essence of life, it was Yggdrasil – it was the light of souls. Loki suddenly felt as breathless as the mortal he held so cruelly. He let his eyes drop. Ribbons of silver elongating and twining around each other - the last strained growth of the branches, twisting and hardening until gradually coming to rest in their final position. Loki’s gaze traces the lines winding up from his wrist. Where his fingertips touch tan skin, unfamiliar branches are entwined with his, aligning perfectly with the luminescent veins of the mortal’s neck. Loki’s arms go slack. The sound of the sceptre crashing to the floor ringing out, as the two stumble away from each other. Tony gasping for precious air holds his balance. Loki, however, falls to his knees as a seething cry of hatred and anguish is released into the air.

Tony is speechless, literally, as he drags in breath after rasping breath; he stares in utter shock and horror at the sight in front of him. The god doubled over, his hands wound tight in the black tresses of his hair, face almost to the floor. The space was silent but Tony could see the tremors running up and down Loki’s spine. Tony wasn’t aware he was still retreating until he backs into the bar. Hitting his tailbone, there’s a flash of pain but it’s nothing compared to the burning of his throat. A tumbler is knocked to the ground as he tries to find purchase against the counter, shards of ice and glass shattering the silence.

“Don’t look at me!” Loki all but shrieks but Tony can’t look away. Can’t turn away, can’t even move. So he just stands as still as the cold stone he’s unknowingly gripping with a trembling hand and stares. His other hand remains flexing at his side. Alternating between a fist - digging his nails painfully into the flesh of his palm - and the calming, stretched tendon, muscle memory of repulsor activation. After a moment, Tony finds just a fraction of his voice, fuelled by the adrenaline and fear, pushing and heaving the air from his lungs.

“Jarvis deploy.” Not a moment too soon, the familiar flicker of red and gold arranges itself around his vision. He feels safer and ironically his breathing begins to steady as he is encased in the suffocating metal. His relief is short lived, as Loki has again taken up the sceptre. The god is knelt on one knee as both his hands clutch the sceptre in front of him. He raises the staff about a foot off the ground as Tony raises a hand. The sound of the repulsor charge is displaced somehow, like it’s a beat behind what Tony is seeing. Loki brings the sceptre down with a distinct finality. A pulse thrums through Tony, throwing their surroundings into chaos, as a spherical shockwave of energy explodes out to expand well beyond the confines of the room. Anything and everything weaker than Tony’s impact resistant windows is reduced to shards and splinters. The windows themselves cracking, the sound echoing ominously in the following stillness. The god hasn’t moved but he does lay the sceptre down, when he speaks his voice is soft – resigned.

“No army shall come. I have freed those who aid me.” The god lowers his head. Tony can feel his own anger rising. He was stunned but not speechless and certainly not stupid. Loki was the god of lies. He was tricky, devious. Tony wants to believe it’s a lie, desperately wants the god to have some kind of ulterior play; but he can see in the way he sinks to his knees, his shoulders dripping, saturated in defeat; that if no one came to claim the victory, Loki might not move again until the end of time. Tony doesn’t feel victorious, the god had seemingly lost to himself somehow. The avengers hadn’t won this battle, they hadn’t saved anyone – _they hadn’t avenged anyone_. If Loki gave up this war, then everything was pointless.

“You’re lying!” His voice is rasping and positively acrid, laced with some delirious and dark mirth as Tony spits through the raised face plate. He wants the god to hear every ounce of the rage in his words.

“No, Anthony. I surely kneel to you.” Loki’s response is nothing short of miserable. Feeling brave or perhaps just angry enough to do something senseless, Tony advances determinedly toward the god and doesn’t stop until he’s standing over him.

“You’re… lying.” He growls but Loki just shakes his head. Tony knows it’s the truth. If it wasn’t he wouldn’t be wasting his time with the god. He’s just too consumed in the futility of it all to let this surrender be the end. Bodily dragging Loki into standing, Tony holds him with both hands fisted in his clothes.

“His name was Phil!” Tony shouts in grief. The unspoken accusation and indignation in his voice making the god flinch. “Tell me! I’m not a solider! I’m not even a hero! Why was I fighting?” Loki finally meets his eyes and they are filled with a hurt Tony knows all too well. Avenging Yinsen, Tony had been the lesser of two evils, he had been fixing his own mistakes. He had been a saviour to some but he wasn’t a hero. Loki had killed eighty people in two days to achieve his aim. How many had Tony killed in ten years, in ignorance and for nothing so much as an agenda? Loki who, in some form of albeit twisted reason, wanted peace for the world under his rule and Tony who profited from war.

“Why was I fighting?” Tony’s voice was lower now. Asking the question more to himself. Was it so he could sleep at night? Was it because he lived on this hunk of space rock? Was it because Fury sent Phil to override his security one night just to tell him that he was needed; or maybe because of the guilt that Coulson only became Phil after it was too late. Whatever Loki’s answer, Tony knew it wasn’t enough to redeem himself. It wouldn’t be enough to count this as victory and mark him as anything other than a selfish man who’s only made strong by a suit of armour. Tony could see it in the god’s face as he swallowed, like it was physically painful for him to admit the truth; and that’s when Tony knew. Lies would have slipped from the silver-tongue’s lips effortlessly. The truth clearly hurt which meant that Loki could do the one noble, selfless, thing that never failed to send Tony straight to his scotch.

Admit he was broken.

As the god took a shuddered breath to answer, Tony’s eyes fell shut in his own defeat.

“I thought I could become something better than what I was born to be. In the end I only destroyed the one chance I had left.” Tony’s anger all but subsided, he releases the god.

“You just pissed a bunch of people off - not a great plan.” Tony sighs. “Usually that’s my job, so you can take it on good authority.” Loki looks away distantly and huffs.

“So, uh… Do you want that drink now?” Loki’s lip quirks slightly before it turns into a deep grimace.

“I seem to have destroyed your liquor supply.”

“Impossible. There has to be some around here, it’s the first rule of being a Stark.” Tony valiantly tries to remain optimistic as he thinks about the vintage, liquid, gold that was now dripping from his walls. “Take a seat, I guess?” As an afterthought, Tony picks up the sceptre and takes it with him behind the bar, he ditches the suit while he’s at it but decidedly leaves the tracking bracelets on. Let no-one ever say Tony Stark was less than a perfect host, or that he has any instincts of self-preservation.

“Sir, director Fury is on hold.” Jarvis informs. Tony thinks it’s about time someone assumes he’s the cause for the apparent lack of destruction rather than the alternative. Which is probably why it took SHEILD so long to contact him in the first place. “

“What’s the holding music?”

“Something - you, sir.” Tony smirks watching as Loki – idly searching for the disembodied voice – takes a seat on one of the black, art deco armchairs Pepper picked out.

“Good. Leave him there.”

Tony returns with two tumblers and a bottle of something older and stronger than anything Loki has encountered before on Midgard. Wordlessly, Tony gestures for him to take a glass before pouring what Loki assumes is a generous amount into both and raising his own glass in a half-aborted toast.

“To alcohol.” He proclaims before drinking deeply and Loki agrees with the sentiment wholeheartedly.

“So I have a question.” Loki looks up, quietly curious and ready to comply. Tony taps a finger to his neck, where he knows the silver lines are visible. Loki feels simultaneously nervous and mortified but manages a shaky nod.

“I’ve kind of kept this on the down-low, so before SHEILD gets here, what is it? Some kind of intergalactic illness? …’cause if it is, I really need to know what it does and how to fix it.” Loki frowns; if only there was a cure.

“They’re called miǫtviðr. Measure trees. They measure…” Loki searches for the right words. He refused to lie to his intended; maybe he could convince Tony that they were simply afterimages of energy transference – that they had no further meaning. “They measure your connection to Yggdrasil, the tree of life; which makes up all of the energy in the nine realms. We are born with them but mortals aren’t supposed to have them. Your realm is at the centre of Yggdrasil and receives its energy bountifully, therefore you have no need of a physical connection. Life is given so readily here and is just as quickly and easily taken away.” Loki does not wish to linger on that fact. “In the further realms, the energy has to travel and cannot exist freely as it does here, we need links. They are harmless.” Tony was nodding along, clearly more than just slightly intrigued.

“So why do I have one?” Indeed. Why did the Norns see it fit to bestow this mortal with a connection to the tree of life? More importantly, why had they tied his fate to that of a monster?

“I do not know Anthony.”

“Uh, just Tony is fine.” Loki nods in acknowledgment and is about to try the name on his tongue, ask Tony to say his name just so he can hear it, apologise for everything, beg for forgiveness; any number of inappropriate and idiotic things, before there is a shattering of glass and a thunderous voice booms from behind him.

“Brother!” The word is positively roared and Loki visibly flinches, his brow pinching.

“Easy there point break. Loki here has surrendered.” _‘Surrendered’_ Loki thinks is a delicate way of describing it and he only wishes he could convey how much it meant to him that Tony let him keep his dignity for the time being. He catches the mortal’s eye and _‘oh, how sweet’_ his name does sound coming from the man of iron.

Over the years of being a celebrity, Tony has learned to read expressions like media prompt cards. Sometimes he was fast, precise and a complete natural; and sometimes he chose to ignore them. When Loki looked at him then, it was with gratitude, assumedly for not mentioning his brief but complete loss of coherent thought; as well as something seemingly more tender, and _that_ , Tony was going to ignore that. Thor only furrows his brow directing an assessing glare at his brother, before turning back to Tony.

“Man of iron, you are being deceived.”

“No, I think…” Tony begins trying to explain that Loki had all but discarded the chance to end him, but Thor is unrelenting.

“Then you are under the influence of the sceptre!” Thor cries.

“Thor!” Loki snaps but the thunder god is too beside himself to listen and suddenly he’s advancing on Tony of all people. He feels himself go rigid as Thor grabs him by a handful of shirt and holds him fast. Then the god’s eyes go wide.

“A miǫtviðr?” There’s a flash of blue and Tony is stumbling, Thor is on the other side of the room and Loki is holding the sceptre standing between them.

“Sir Director Fury has overridden…”

“Stark! What in hell are you doing?”

“Loki!” Thor growls.

“I still concede…” Loki says hastily before he gently places the sceptre upon the ground.

 _‘Fuck.’_ Tony thinks running a hand over his face and up through his hair, sucking in a long breath. He’d definitely had two too many Norse god, choke holds for today; and certainly not enough to drink. “Thor, I’m telling you its fine!” Tony punctuates. “Can you take it down a notch?”

“Congratulations!” Thor hollers with complete disregard for Tony’s request and rapidly amassing headache. To make it worse, Captain America, the assassin siblings and Banner were currently stepping through his broken window.

“Thor…” Loki’s voice was all ice and so lowly pitched, Tony was sure it edged the scale of human hearing.

“Ok…” Both gods turn their heads toward him before he’s even finished pronouncing the consonant. “Loki…” Tony is feeling just a drop of dread. It’s the same feeling he got the first time the suit iced up and systems went offline. “What _else_ are miǫtviðr supposed to mean?” Loki simply folds his arms, a little too protectively around himself and turns away. Seeing his brother isn’t about to respond anytime soon, Thor decides to enlighten Tony.

“Even I can see your miǫtviðr align. You must be my brother’s intended!” The care-free grin returns to Thor’s face. “We must feast!”

“Intended…” Tony begins not really knowing if he wants to finish his train of thought aloud - he doesn’t have to.

“Soulmate.” Loki says, clearly impatient and turning to look Tony dead-on. Nothing betraying his emotions other than some form of unspoken apology silently transmitting through the gaze. “That is the word Midgardians would use. It means that by the fates, I am undeniably and inarguably yours.”

“Stark. Debrief. Now.” Fury’s voice commands over the bark of Barton’s laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Loki's explanation of miǫtviðr and Yggdrasil, is the result me trying to decipher Norse mythology using science brain at some ungodly hour. Also a thank you to infinite_latte (my beta) for fixing my 4am drawl.


	3. Chapter 3

It was laughter but laughter by the likes of which Loki had only ever heard from himself. It was laughter that was amused by its own hysteria and strangled by its own unexpectedness. It was so empty and hollow that the archer’s manic crowing echoed even now, in the fallen god’s mind as he awaited in silence, his punishment. Thor had returned to Asgard to deliver news of his capture and no doubt spread word of Loki finding his intended. His duty to receive the details of Loki’s punishment was but a trivial concern to the optimistic fool. Confident that Loki would not try to escape and that the mortals would treat him hospitably, he had left declaring again, his congratulations. The thunderer had always been too trusting but Loki supposed he should be grateful that Thor hadn’t made any move to physically interfere when the Captain had grabbed Loki’s wrists, forcing them behind his back.

“Loki speaks the truth!” Thor’s voice had boomed the paradox, as if it wasn’t the god of lies’ honesty he was trying to convince them of. Seeing he hadn’t been successful, he continued. “I suspect my brother’s intent was to conquer Midgard as a gift for his intended. He will not bring any harm now, should Tony not wish it.” The Avengers had turned their gaze upon Tony then, blatantly – and if the genius admitted, a little insultingly – assessing his intentions.

“What? You think…” Tony huffs, before turning to Loki instead and laying on as much of his textbook, apathetic, charm as possible. “Look Loki. That’s honestly an impressive gesture and sure, I’ve gotten bored before and played with the idea of world domination…” Loki hears the Captain make a noise of disbelief and can’t help but feel a little proud of his mortal.

“…but the fact of the matter is, ruling Earth would be a nightmare. People are just too…” Tony makes a vague circling motion with his hand. “…stubborn?”

“That’s coming from you.” The man, Banner, chuckles and Loki watches as his intended flashes a bright grin at his fellow Avenger.

“Yes, I believe I’m beginning to see that.” Loki sighs and it’s almost – fond. Tony seems to study him a moment.

“This is fucked.” Hawkeye’s voice startles them all somewhat. “Selvig is still on the roof and I maintain that the act of even _thinking_ Stark is capable of ruling anyone, is a war crime in its own right.” The archer turns and starts to walk toward the shattered window. The woman warrior silently follows him and glances back over her shoulder briefly, emotions skilfully concealed.

“Thor…” The Captain’s tone was commanding and Loki would even admit a little intimidating, considering he had his back to the man who held his wrists secure. It wasn’t even remotely a firm enough grip to have held him had he wanted to escape. “Loki will see justice. This…” The Captain pauses, surely conflicted by the situation and what name to put to it. “…changes nothing.”

Loki met his intended’s gaze for just a moment of brief sentiment, before Tony had simply left. He tries to name the flicker of emotion he had seen in those eyes. It wasn’t quite considering, it was a little more resolved and had felt familiar. Familiar in the way familiarity feels in and of itself – like understanding. It had felt like in that moment, his intended had understood. _‘Ah of course.’_ Loki’s epiphany leaves him with a sad respect for humankind. It was an emotion he had not felt, let alone seen, in an age. The humans were apparently famous for it. It was empathy – how curious it was that Tony should empathise with him. He had visited Loki only once in his make shift prison in Stark tower. Showing no emotion, he had simply handed the god some papers and a pen, and told him where to sign. Loki was too distracted by his presence, to care much what they were. Tony had been so cold then and the archer’s spiteful laughter taunts him. As he kneels bound and gagged, Loki can only resent the Norns for ever allowing his intended to waste even that slightest glance of precious compassion, on a monster.

***

With his brother out of town, stratosphere, galaxy, Tony knew Loki had been left with no one. The god was alone on a planet where, as far as he knew, everyone wanted him dead or worse. Tony knew what came next from experience. Interrogation was the polite term but it was no doubt going to be served with a heavy dose of vengeance and animosity. When it came to their enemies, SHEILD scoffed at the idea of human rights, quietly in secret underground basses, no doubt filled with any number of pointy objects. To make their job even easier – Loki wasn’t human. Well if SHEILD was about to pull the _‘not human’_ card then Tony would too.

He didn’t have much time but with Jarvis and Pepper’s help, he didn’t need it. Pepper wasn’t convinced but she also didn’t want to know. At first she had been worried how it would affect stocks; but when Jarvis had suggested that they could advertise it as _‘Stark Industries taking an active role in the welfare and safety of the planet’_ , she was reluctantly on-board. She had laughed when the word ‘soulmates’ came into the conversation. When her voice suddenly turned solemn and asked why he was doing this, Tony shrugged uncomfortably and told her that it’s what Yinsen would have done – had done.

 _“Oh Tony.”_ She had smiled sincerely, if a little sadly, and told him to at least be careful.

The rest was paperwork – which he hated and not for the obvious reasons. He had freed Loki’s wrists and Tony was worried he was going to have to superglue the pen to Loki’s hand. Admittedly, he had been cautious approaching but he had tried to be reassuring, or at least respectful. The god had just looked so dejected. Tony is reminded of the time he’d admired Loki having surrendered – however false it might have been – with so much pride. He would barely meet Tony’s eyes now and didn’t even bother reading the pages he handed him, before signing his name away. Tony worried momentarily, that Loki was trying to avoid the repercussions of refusing his captors and it hurt more than Tony would like to confess. His mind wandering briefly to the desert, the scorching in his chest as he heaved in the dry heat. His lungs set alight by the desperate need for air and burning from inhaling the diesel tainted water. The sensation, he imagines, is akin to the battery acid he hopes will stay within the device that was keeping the jagged jaws of shrapnel from biting into his heart. When Tony finally came back from his grim evocation, Loki had finished signing and had a look of pure misery on his muzzled face. Tony would have said something, wanted to say something but what would he say? Instead he snatched up the papers, re-bound the god’s hands and had left.

The next day he made sure Fury and his brave little tin soldiers – Barton, Nat and Steve – were already tediously awaiting his arrival before he appeared. It was make or break time. He had the element of surprise, just enough pre-prepared support and enough adlib charisma that he might just be able to pull this off – or at least buy some time for Thor's return.

“Fury.” Tony nods at the Commander, before acknowledging the others. “Groupies.”

“Stark.” The leather-clad tyrant had returned unamused.

“Ok let’s get this over with.” Tony lets the five of them into Loki’s cell, striding ahead of the group, though Barton was eagerly on his heels. He tilts a slow, silent salutation to the god, when he looks up at the intrusion. Loki simply blinks back inclining his head docilely. Tony turns his back on him to address the others.

“So, I thought it was probably more polite to tell you in person, that you no longer have any business here.”

“Wha…” Barton sputters and Nat’s hand flies out to catch his shoulder.

“We’re not leaving without interrogating him.” Fury states as if it’s an unchangeable fact.

“Then I don’t see why you brought Spangles over there. Surely that’s counter-productive to your interrogation methods.”

“My name’s Steve… Tony.” The truth of the matter was, that Tony needed Steve’s old-timey ideals and perfect morals to influence – or at very least scowl disapprovingly at – any resistance to Tony’s plan. For once he was playing by the rules and he was counting on Captain America to be right there beside him. His statement – ridiculing endearment included – had Steve looking calculatingly between his team members and _‘that, that right there’_ was just what he needed. Steve’s faith in Fury was shaky after the incident on the hellicarrier. That look of doubt and mistrust was Tony’s supporting argument.

“Allow me to explain.”

“Please do enlighten us.” Tony could see the rage simmering under Fury’s deceivingly calm expression and he continued, determined to uphold his reckless reputation.

“As of 9:24pm last night, Loki signed the Geneva Conventions.” There was a collective groan from the two assassins.

“I’ve read those.” Steve supplies offhandedly. He looks both unsettled and contemplative, trying to understand how it relates to the situation. The other three SHEILD operatives had already caught onto the tail end of his scheme.

“Stark, do _not_ oppose me.” Fury growls through gritted teeth.

“Wouldn’t dream of it Sunshine. As I was saying, any actions that Loki committed previous to entering this treaty were acts of hostile warfare and were not in keeping with the lawful acts of war. Including, but not limited to, his surrender.”

“Stark!” Hawkeye snaps. ‘Dangerous’ didn’t come close to doing Clint justice – and though he felt somewhat guilty about it, neither was Tony.

“As he is not human, Loki didn’t even have the _right_ to surrender. Not killing him on sight was our own failing…” Tony saw both Cap and the god flinch at his words and watched as a resigned guilt washed away the brief wave of hurt from Loki’s face.

“…At 9:25pm, Loki officially – as per lawful conduct – declared war on Stark industries and preceded to surrender just 37 seconds later. As such, making him a prisoner of the world’s shortest war…” Loki notes that he has never surrendered so quickly in his life but he could see now Tony’s scheme unravelling. It was quite worthy of even his notice. If he was given the chance – even aware of his actions – Loki would gladly surrender to this brilliant mortal again.

“…and as the third convention states; such persons shall enjoy the protection of the present Convention until such time as their status has been determined by the protecting power – which is…”

“Fuck…” Barton hisses.

“You.” Fury unintentionally finishes for both of them.

“Yes. Me.” Tony grins and walks over to stand beside his prisoner. He rests a hand on Loki’s shoulder. Well, technically Pepper’s prisoner; but what SHEILD doesn’t know – won’t make Tony hurt them. He'll be the first of many to admit he is well in over his head on this one; but he’ll be damned if he isn’t the one to prove everyone wrong.

If the god had any doubts about his treatment as a war criminal by Tony, they were obliterated by the protective weight of his intended’s palm. The touch itself was addicting and sent a sedative warmth through his chest. An incomplete bond shouldn’t be so strong, perhaps it was simply that Loki had been deprived. If the way Tony used his periphery vision to glance at him was any indication, the mortal could feel it too. Tony was protecting him. For what reason Loki did not know, but the knowledge was so alleviating, he felt heady with guilty pleasure. He should be stronger than this. Strong enough to surrender bodily without surrendering to the temptation of his intended’s kindness. He should be distancing himself from Tony, as to not cause him shame or distress but he found he could not shake off that generous, unassuming hand.

“So does that mean Loki is a POW of Stark Industries now?” Steve concludes and he is undoubtedly the calmest of the four agents – he might even look slightly amused. Tony had to commend him. Even standing here, with Loki – the god who had tried to enslave earth – Steve’s sense of justice was impressive. Barton is possibly having a seizure, Tony can’t tell, the archer’s head is bowed but he is shaking ominously albeit minutely.

“It means SHEILD can’t touch him. Not without giving Stark a reason to take action.” Nat confirms. She’s looking at Loki intently but the god doesn’t see her, he is too busy admiring his intended’s cunning intelligence. Too infatuated to see the archer’s fist, before it is connecting with Tony’s jaw.

Loki rips a wrist free of his restraints in a flurry of rage as Tony stumbles back. He can’t pull his other hand free and is left only to swipe desperately at his intended’s attacker. His nails digging satisfyingly into the archer’s ankle, he tears through the flesh. As the man turns his fiery eyes and the full force of his hatred on the god, someone calls out. The authoritative voice halting him alone.

“Hawkeye, enough!” The Captain, or Steve, was stepping between them.

 _‘Aw not the face’_ Tony thinks as he pulls himself off the floor. He doesn’t think anything is broken but there was going to be a bruise, no doubt indistinguishable from all the others he had acquired recently. Tony clears his head assessing the situation; Barton favouring his left leg, Loki’s bloody hand and Steve’s protective stance between the two – Cap had pulled through for him and Tony owed the man, big time.

“Should I activate defence protocols sir?”

“No Jarv. That shouldn’t be necessary, our guests know where the door is.”

“Damn right we do and we have our own set of keys.” Barton spits.

“It’s not going to be your tower for much longer.” Fury reminds him. He’d already signed over the tower to become the keenly awaited, Avenger’s Tower – he’d deal with that when he has to.

“Until then, Stark.” Tony is finding that he is infinitely grateful that Fury doesn’t smile. The menacing and lightless glare was enough to turn lava into tepid ash all by itself. He turns, quirking his head to signal the others to follow. Barton sneers, seemingly satiated with the Commander’s threats for now. Nat remains indifferent; leaving Steve, who lingers and Tony can’t help himself. He grins. Not in boastful victory but in humble gratitude. Appreciation successfully conveyed, the Captain nods and returns a subtle smile of his own.

“Thank fuck for that.” Tony breathes when they are gone.

He turns to beam triumphantly at his charge when the awkwardness of it all finally settles upon him. He’s alone with Loki. Loki who is currently, muzzled, on his knees and looking up at him in slight irritation. Tony thinks Loki’s being defensive but concludes that it might have something to do with the very wrong angle of the god’s hand. It’s mangled and he must have broken his wrist rather than the cuff to get it free. He is a little in awe of Loki’s strength – those cuffs were no joke, he made them himself – to say nothing of his commitment to... Well, him. _‘…and where’s the scotch?’_

Tony sucks in a breath, grimacing slightly at the sight of the injury. “Uh… ok. Let’s do this.” Tony steps quickly to Loki’s side where he crouches down beside him.

“I’m going to take these off and we can get that wrist splinted or something.” Loki watches him closely and nods his confirmation. Tony frees the god’s hands before moving to the muzzle. He realises a little too late that Loki probably could have done this himself; but Tony’s hands were already there. Loki’s wrist was probably pretty useless anyway – as well as kind of horrifying to look at – and the god’s ebony black hair was really soft, tickling Tony’s palms as he undid the latch. Tony carefully pulls the god silencer away and Loki’s viridescent eyes are watching him attentively. Tony swallows.

“Better?”

“Much.” Loki’s voice is rough from disuse. “Thank you Tony.”

Tony hates that Loki has to thank him for righting something that should really never have happened. He also hates that he can’t promise it won’t happen again; but for the sake of redemption – the god’s or his own, he doesn’t know – there wasn’t a chance in hell he wasn’t going to try.

***

His hand would heal in a matter of hours. Still, he lets Tony unknowingly indulge him. Loki had watched as his intended set and splinted his broken wrist. Greedily and guiltily coveting the deft touch of the calloused fingers that wrapped his injury. To speak of pain, he felt none - other than the ache of insistent longing. The torture of a millennia old promise, gnawing at his miǫtviðr. Much the same way, the dragon Nidhug gnaws on the very roots of Yggdrasil itself. It begged him to tie the threads the Norns had spun together.

“It doesn’t look so bad.” Tony straightens to assess his work and Loki notices that he does not immediately withdraw his hand. Instead, letting Loki continue to rest his wrist in Tony’s upturned palm.

“Does it hurt?”

“It will heal soon.” The truth spills from Loki’s lips, as his attention is trapped within the patterns Tony starts absentmindedly drawing on his wrist. His mortal is so inquisitive, already deep in thought, no doubt contemplating the questions for the answers he seeks. He watches as Tony’s wandering fingertips lightly trace his miǫtviðr. Tony’s hand pauses.

“How soon?” Tony asks. Loki swallows his humiliation at having his confession noticed.

“In a few hours.” Tony hums thoughtfully but is seemingly unaffected by Loki’s previous failure to mention this information. He resumes tracing the lines and Loki is entranced as he watches them.

“Is that because of your… magic?” Loki could hear the curiosity and scepticism in Tony’s voice and his reply is smothered by quiet amusement.

“No, it is because I am a god.” Tony chuckles as they both continue to watch as his index finger follows a branch from his wrist, across the bandages, to emerge over his knuckles.

“Of course. Why don’t you just use your magic to escape?” Loki sighs contentedly and with the resolution to tell the truth. He pulls his eyes from their hands to look at his intended in profile. Tony is still looking intently at the silver miǫtviðr branches, allowing Loki to contemplate the tone of his skin, bronzed by the sun that permitted this realm’s life – so rich and vibrant. Loki wants nothing more to kiss and mouth away the dark burgeoning purple across his jaw, marring the flesh just above where silver veins mark the golden flesh.

“Where would I escape to? _You are here_.” Tony’s eyes flash up to meet his. Panic and guilt making them glisten like sunstone. Tony gently pulls his hands from Loki’s wrist and the god lets him, already missing the ghosting touches.

“Uh, right… sorry.” He mumbles as he looks away and Loki can only be thankful Tony hadn’t looked at him with the horror he deserved.

“Why do you trust me Tony?” Loki can see the shadow of a smile shading Tony’s lips, dappling the nervousness in his eyes as Tony turns to look at him.

“…because I think you need someone to trust.”

 _‘Take me to Valhalla.’_ Loki thinks as he has surely been slain by such compassion. This must be his answer – the Norns were spiteful toward Tony for surpassing them in radiance. It was the only reason that would account for how they had failed this precious mortal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I didn't post last week. I went to see my boyfriend for Valentines. We went to the cinema. I went to the cinema to see him... Yeah I'm single and I went to see Deadpool for Valentines... It was awesome. Anywho, hope you enjoyed this chapter. 
> 
> Also for the record, I'm not going to pretend I know what I'm talking about with the Geneva Conventions. I skimmed the third one. So if you notice that something doesn't quite line up, I commend you for actually having read them.


	4. Chapter 4

Everything had been bright and accommodating inside the tower. Warm lighting warded away the dark, miserable, day that had swallowed New York in drizzling greys and low hung fog. The toneless sky and unrelenting rain, were apathetic to the city’s inhabitants as it made them all but disappear. If it weren’t for the slow creeping taillights down below – like a terrible procession of crimson lanterns – one might think there was no city, existing beyond the newly restored panes of glass. The honeyed lighting that Jarvis had chosen to offset the pale, diluted, sunlight that managed to escape the clutches of the clouds, did nothing to thaw the sudden chill that hung loftily about the common room. Tony never thought that a bowl of pancake batter could look threatening. He was mistaken – gravely mistaken. It was one of the strangest, anxiety inducing and most silent confrontations of his life.

It had been the perfect day to do nothing. To lounge about in comfort, lazily drawing up pipedream schematics with a mug of something warm and bittersweet perpetually in hand. This was exactly what Tony had been doing; in amongst sneaking glances at his resident god of mischief, who had his own mug and a book of humanity’s ‘ _Great Scientific Achievements’_ in his lap. The book was published in the seventies – he wouldn’t have hardcopies of anything published later – and he wasn’t in there – but Howard was. Bruce entered the kitchen exclaiming that; observing the degenerative behaviour of his recent experiment, though interesting, was _‘kind of depressing’_ and that such a day _‘needs pancakes’._ Tony wasn’t arguing and when Loki had showed a particular interest in Bruce’s idea, he had recruited the god’s help. Comfortable conversation filling the previously contented quiet.

“Have you tried them before?”

“I have not, though I have heard of them.”

“They’re easy to make.” Bruce reassures as he starts to measure out the ingredients into a large bowl, Loki watching vigilantly by his side.

“Speak for yourself.” Tony jibes from the couch, though he’s really only injuring his own pride. He looks up as Bruce hands Loki the bowl and a wooden spoon.

“Mix these. I’ll cut some fruit while the frypan heats up.” Loki cradles the bowl in one arm as he begins to stir the batter. Tony watches the interaction softly amused. He was secretly elated that Bruce had accepted his offer to take up a room after the invasion and the other scientist had been a much sought after voice of reason. He had checked with Bruce before scheming to monopolise Loki over SHIELD, to make sure he would be ok with Loki hanging around. Apparently, Loki hadn’t affronted Bruce any more than he had the rest of the world and Bruce was big on rights; whether it was human, animal, mineral or vegetable. To his reluctance and slight embarrassment, Tony had recounted what Loki had said about not wanting to escape and Bruce had just shrugged, a poorly concealed smirk in the corner of his mouth. _‘Why would he have surrendered otherwise? I get the feeling Loki isn’t the kind to resort to the same trick twice.’_ Tony thought so too and decidedly said nothing more of the way Loki had looked at him or the way the god’s voice had lowered, gentle and longing.

His thoughts were disrupted by the sound of the elevator door opening. Steve, Natasha and Clint stepped out into the room. The sub-zero temperatures of the archer’s glacial glare hit them almost instantly. The glare itself directed at the god occupying kitchenette, Nat was the only one who noticed the slight falter as the archer took in the scene. Had her own expression not been cautiously concealed it surely would be one of relaxed incredulity. Loki rose to the challenge with a snarl of his own. Tony and Bruce were a little surprised at Loki’s sudden hostility, having spent the last few days in companionable co-existence with the god. That was until Loki looked away – though only briefly – in Tony’s direction; as if to calculate just how quickly he could get between him and Clint. _‘Oh.’_ Steve must have noticed too because just as Tony lifted himself off the couch in the pretence of welcoming them and ease tensions, – though he was really attempting to gravitate toward Loki to calm him – the Captain tries to do the same.

“I hope you’re making enough for everyone.” Steve quips light-heartedly. Clint scoffs.

“We can make more.” Bruce joins in with the placating chatter, smiling. Loki seems to relax a little, though he’s still watching Clint closely.

“Where are our rooms?” Clint demands and though he can’t see it, Nat’s previously warming though assessing posture, tenses in minor distaste. Steve just openly scowls disapprovingly at the back of his head.

“They are on the floor below this. Jarvis can show you.” Tony doesn’t care much for giving them the grand tour just yet. With that Clint is stepping back into the elevator, Nat reluctantly, though no less efficiently, following. Tony thinks that now more than ever, she looks like Clint’s care-taker. Steve makes them wait a moment.

“Thank you Tony, We’ll… I’ll be back up after everyone’s settled in.”  Tony nods though says nothing as the doors slide shut behind them.

“J why didn’t you remind me they were coming today?” Tony says patronising, before he raises his voice in futile frustration. “More importantly, why didn’t you warn us they were here?!”

“I thought it better for all involved, if Mr Barton was introduced to a relaxed environment sir.” Tony looks over at Bruce who shrugs, his eyebrows raising in the universal gesture for _‘He has a point.’_ Then he looks at Loki, who has returned to stirring the batter, pensively. Tony sighs.

“At least it seems like Fury’s told Clint to behave himself.”

“Steve looks like he’s keeping a close eye on him too.” Bruce adds.

“I am sorry, I do not want for your home to become uncomfortable.” Loki hasn’t looked up from the bowl but has abandoned stirring all together. He’s just standing there dejectedly.

“No. Nope. Not uncomfortable, right Brucie-bear?” Tony insists.

“Not at all Loki.” Bruce agrees though he does raise an eyebrow at the pet-name.

“Just watch, it’s all going to work out fine.” Loki looks up at his babbling and gives Tony a reason to carry on his tirade. “This place is decked out with so much awesome, we’ll all be having too much fun to hold grudges. For starters, pancakes! Who doesn’t love pancakes?” Loki smiles and Tony, satisfied, cuts off his ramble to smile back.

***

 A little under a week passed without major incident. It wasn’t quite uncomfortable but there was still a palpable tension. A tension that densified whenever Loki and Clint had to occupy the same space. Casual conversation was difficult and a relentless silence often persisted in the room, to be broken only by polite monosyllabic acknowledgments and meaningful expressions. Sometimes they all just resorted to animalistic sounds. Tony would grumble unintelligibly and in response, Nat would pass him the coffee carafe. These sounds however, were a welcome sign of familiarity not hostility. The hisses and scoffs that would be exchanged between the god and the archer were vicious and despite seemingly having no effect on the person they were intended for, served to make all the other occupants of the room a little uneasy. After a few days of this, Steve called an intervention. Currently they’re sat in the entertainment room where there aren’t many places for the archer to hide and eavesdrop but Nat’s there too, which Tony thinks means the coast is clear.

“We’ve got to do something.” Steve had definitely been the most on edge. He was desperately trying to bridge the divide that was forming between them. Tony and Bruce protecting Loki while the two SHIELD agents were held constantly in suspicion. Bruce and Nat both nod in agreement.

“I don’t know. They’re barely co-existing as it is, what if we just make it worse?” Tony doesn’t like the stress either but he was sort of hoping it would ease off.

“What if not doing anything just means waiting for them to come to blows?” Bruce says defeated.

“I suppose you can’t get much worse if it’s going to end that way anyway. Look, I’m pretty sure Loki’s only problem is that I got punched that one time. If we can just get Clint to…”

“Don’t pin this on Clint, Tony.” Nat’s eyes narrow and Tony is seriously concerned that he just saw a glint of silver as she hung her hand delicately over the other side of the arm rest.

“I wasn’t.” Tony holds up his hands defensively. “I just mean, it won’t take five seconds to show Loki that Clint’s a decent guy, you know, so long as he stops threatening him with torture. Of the two of them, Clint’s going to be the hardest to convince.”

“Speaking of, what convinced _you_ that that Loki is decent?” Steve looks at him critically. Tony doesn’t want to admit it’s because he thinks they’re the same. Doesn’t want to remind America’s sweetheart that he had benefitted from the very thing Steve had been fighting to end. That if Loki can’t be saved, then he can’t be either. In the end he doesn’t have to answer. Bruce, thinking more quickly of a suitable excuse, answers for him.

“Surrendering this time gives him no advantage. He discarded an entire alien army when he closed the portal, if he was going to attack us it would have been then.” Steve nods. Tony knew the Captain was too perceptive not to have noticed the misdirection but his affinity for strategy distracted him enough not to question it.

“I’ll talk to Clint…” Natasha relents. “…but I can’t promise anything. He has his own mug because he doesn’t want to potentially share with Loki. He was complaining about it on his way to the kitchen just before.”

“The kitchen?” Bruce Looks frantically at Tony. “Loki was reading outside.”

“He wouldn’t… Right?” Steve grimaces. Natasha only sighs. They’re all on their feet ready to book it to the lounge.

“Sir…”

“On our way Jarv.”

“I suggest you do so quickly.” Jarvis sounds concerned.

“Fuck.”

They get to the lounge to spot Loki and Clint on the landing pad. They’re talking and they look tense but no one’s kicking or screaming yet. Maybe Tony was right and they were working things out, easing off a bit.

***

“I will apologise for the transgressions I have brought against this realm if only for the offensives I have caused Tony. As for the actions I took against the likes of you…” Loki practically spits the words and Tony hasn’t seen that cruel a grin since Stuttgart. “…it was all for my intended and for that I will _not_ apologise.” The archer rounds on the unrepentant god with all of his usual deftness and a weight that make his footsteps strike the platform with rage. Loki steps back, noting that his foe has backed him up against the precipice and he readies himself to strike back.

“For fuck’s sake!” Loki’s attention is pulled immediately and foolishly to Tony’s yell. He looks unimpressed before a dread visibly drenches his expression. From the corner of his eye Loki sees the archer, mid stride, elbow pulling back the hand he has fisted next to his deadly eyes. All his strength would be thrown into his next step to fuel the momentum of his assault.

Loki doesn’t cower in the seconds he has; he tenses to absorb the attack. Then, Loki turns. Despite his desire to please Tony – to yield. He turns away from Tony and fixes his determined gaze on the man in front of him. The archer’s foot makes contact with the platform and he lets his fist fly.

Loki watches astounded as the archer’s whole body, as if by some great shockwave, is repelled backwards. No – he was pulled. A big green hand dragging him back by his shirt to be held dangling in its grasp.

“Banner!” Clint roared but the beast only roars louder. Loki can’t help the panic that sinks deep into him at the Hulk’s intimidation.

“Thanks big guy.” Tony nods at the creature with nothing less than gratitude and utter respect; before surging past them and facing Loki.

“Loki this has got to stop! Like it or not you’re here and these…” Tony gestures back toward the rest of the Avengers whose eyes had grown wide at the conflict unfolding.

“…these are decent people.”

“Aww you flatter us Stark.” Clint’s voice is cadenced like artificial sucrose. The Hulk had lowered him but kept a heavy hand on the man’s shoulder.

“Shut up Barton, you’re in the wrong here too!” Clint’s expression grows dark as Tony berates him. “What are you planning to achieve? If you wanted an apology, regardless of whether Loki is going to give one, this is _not_ how you ask.”

“I don’t want an apology.” Barton sneers. “He just pisses me off.” Tony is about to tell him that that’s not good enough but Clint continues. “He can’t just do everything he’s done and not feel anything! Damnit.” Clint’s voice grows quiet. “I know what I’ve done, it’s what I’ve had to do but they still haunt me every second I’m not prepared for them. He killed people Tony and there’s, just, nothing.”

“That’s not true!” Loki looks and sounds like he’s been struck. Anxiety and frightened understanding making him desperate and panicked. He’s cornered, injured and threatened by a thousand years’ worth of guilt. Nat silences them all with her next words.

“We all have red in our ledger. We all want a chance to redeem ourselves.” Tony understands then, the reason Clint is so angry. It’s not because Loki used him, it’s because he understands too. They’re all the same and it’s terrifying. Clint doesn’t want to accept that he’s the same as Loki because that means he’s not the good guy and then the guilt comes. Tony’s words are harsh but he knows they are what needs to be said and they punch through the tension like a hole-punch through lead.

“Clint. You pretending to be Loki’s abusive Jiminy Cricket isn’t going to help anyone, much less yourself. We’re the same and we need all the help we can get to fight the good fight. I know it, you know it, so knock off your dumb hazing.”

“…and you.” Tony turns to Loki. “No one here _needs_ your apology.” Tony gestures to his team and he finally feels like he can begin to believe that that’s what they are. “So if you’re going to apologise do it for yourself; not for me, or some twisted loyalty to some version of intergalactic fate. We all want the same thing here and we’re going to need each other’s help. If you lose this chance to be their ally in this, then that’s going to be your loss – not theirs. So Clint, give Loki a reason for him to _want_ to apologise and both of you, quit being dicks.”

Loki could only swallow dryly. He still wasn’t ready to apologise yet, to accept the guilt of what he had done and add it to all the rest, but he knew Tony was right. He should say something, he doesn’t get the chance. A powerful force side-swipes him from the ledge in a blur of gigantic green muscle.

He’s falling – it’s too much like the bi-frost. The flow of his magic recoils as he holds his breath in fear because there’s something different this time. Loki wants to live but this time there’s no-one who wants him to, no-one to reach for him. That is until reflexes impressive enough to match his own, snatch his wrist and hold him suspended above the city. The wind tugs at his hair and clothes and sounds of traffic rise to his ears in the intervals of his racing heart. Clint Barton looks down at him begrudgingly but makes no indication that he is going to let go – and this time neither is Loki.

“Hulk push.” The beast jovially announces as Clint helps Loki back onto the platform. Tony has his hands half in his hair and half pressing into his eye sockets as he breathes shakily, face lifted to the sky. He really wants to believe that Hulk was momentarily channelling some of Banner’s insight and mad-genius, that he knew Clint was going to catch Loki. When he calms enough to look at his team, Hulk is grinning a little too wildly as Steve attempts to guide him inside to calm him down, the god is thanking the archer and Nat is smiling at him knowingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what I call a great night? Chinese, a Star Trek binge and a couple hours destroying my enemies. #Nocturnalftw #IcansleepwhenIdie Finally I got this chapter how I wanted it and got over my OCD about only posting on Sundays. Thanks everyone who commented last week, you were so supportive and I really appreciate it. Chapter 3 bonus has been tacked onto the end of chapter 3 and I'll edit this chapter tomorrow when my beta gets back to me. Hope you enjoyed.


	5. Chapter 5

The heavens cracked open. Split apart by the Thunder god’s hammer and with it came judgment. Dark clouds parting only for the fury of the cosmic gavel. It drew the awaiting mortals and god, together. An eclectic gallery of victims, their aggressor and the impartial. Yet, due to their co-existence over the previous days, no one was particularly enthusiastic to see justice meted. The clouds roiled and Loki could tell that Thor’s mind must be in a much similar state. A petty, sulking tempest that he had been witness to before, on the rare occasion that Odin denied his golden son.

“Well this looks promising.” The archer mutters, setting himself up on the arm of a chair as the others linger about the room. Loki is warmed a slight by his sarcasm.

“Trouble yourself not.” Loki assures. “I remind you that I have done ill.” Clint’s eyes narrow, assessing.

“To Tony?”

“Hmm? Yes of course.” Loki smirks wickedly. “Who else might I mean?” The archer scoffs indignant.

“You are such a dick.”

“Takes one to know one.” Tony singsongs as he comes to stand beside him. Loki can see from the edge of his vision as Tony deliberates, hand raised, before he settles it heavily on the god’s shoulder.

The Thunderer looks humbled in the most debilitating sense, and it does nothing to soothe Tony’s fears. Thor doesn’t say anything and Tony finds the quiet, terrifying. Loki always seemed to know what to say and Thor seemed to say everything – loudly. So when neither says a word, as Thor pulls Loki up into crushing enfold, Tony assumes the worst. Loki refuses to return the embrace but doesn’t push Thor away for a long time. Finally, Loki speaks and it’s with an absolute conviction.

“Get off me you oaf...” Then much quieter but just as resolute. “…I deserve it.” Thor reluctantly lets Loki go, pain and confliction in his gaze which he momentarily turns on Tony, making the man tense.

“We were right to fear the worst, but the Allfather’s word is final.” Thor says and Loki sighs.

“And what is his word?” Thor doesn’t reply, only shakes his head tiredly.

“Ah…” Loki’s gaze falls to his feet. With the god’s pride, crestfallen as it is, Tony feels like he’s seeing something he shouldn’t. “It is to be death then.” Loki whispers and Thor nods in confirmation. As Tony looks away from the scene, the expressions of his fellow Avengers are not much better. Conflicted, seems to be the most common emotion.

“There is a chance brother.” Thor insists and he looks back to his brother pleadingly. “If you’ll let it.”

“What?” Loki demands pseudo-impatiently, Thor hesitates regardless.

“If the man of Iron wishes…” Thor begins and both gods turn to look at him. Tony can see determination settling into Thor’s features, and he thinks he sees a flash of re-kindled hope in the god’s eyes. To his side Loki is looking between them apprehensively. Tony sees the moment he understands.

“Oh.” Loki breathes on a whisper. They lock eyes and the longing he sees in Loki’s softening gaze is infinitely more than that of a man who simply wants a chance to escape punishment. The look still makes him feel marginally uncomfortable, but he also thinks it’s kind of nice. Tony lets his confusion fall into a smile. It’s this that shocks Loki back to reality, and Tony watches that shock morph into anger and then into guilt. “No!” He growls at Thor, before he turns his anger inward. “I can’t.”

“Tell us.” Clint whispers from his perch on the armchair, the concern evident in his tone. The remaining three avengers sit silently. Steve and Bruce look like they know something they don’t want to; and Tony’s sure Nat is the same, though she doesn’t show it.

“My brother is your intended Tony…” Thor begins his explanation.

“Thor don’t bother.” Loki sighs, but Thor continues as if he hadn’t heard.

“…and you aren’t to be punished for his crimes. To a god, the century of your life is a death sentence all the same. If it is your wish for him to remain with you until your passing, then Odin permits it.” Tony looks to Loki disbelievingly.

“Well it doesn’t take a fucking genius to guess the alternative…” It also doesn’t take one to know that Tony is angry.

“It’s not that simple!” Loki turns a vicious snarl on Thor. “Odin would not simply allow me to stay here unguarded, he would want some form of security.” Loki ceases glaring at his brother for ever having mentioned the option, to turn back to Tony. His features softening and Tony can see that deep longing veiled by a too corporeal shame. “We would have to become ætla.” He proceeds to translate, as if to decimate the very idea as quickly as possible. As if the explanation alone would set Tony’s mind off the notion entirely. “It means, fated. It is the tying of our lives. We would share a miǫtviðr. Our souls would be bound forever. You would be doomed to feel everything I might feel and if I were to die, you would also.” Loki looks away sighing resolutely and Tony is shocked to say the least. A bond, that strong. For it even to exist was immense but for Tony to have to make that kind of decision was colossal in comparison.

“Brother…”

“No Thor!” Apparently that’s the end of discussion as Loki simply walks away. It’s Loki who walks away, chooses death and Tony hardly finds that fair. He’s overwhelmed by the verdict, by the enormity of the decision but It’s no less his decision. Tony is struck suddenly with the feelings of possessiveness and betrayal. When Thor makes to follow his brother, it’s Steve who puts a hand on his shoulder and shakes his head. Neither of them see the way Tony’s slack bodied confusion morphs into something rigid. His muscles tensing with the shreds of calculations, of scenarios and outcomes, memories and chances. Tony needs some time to think, to look before he leaps. But here’s the thing about Tony Stark – once he’s made the decision to leap, the only reason he looks beforehand is to calculate the angle of trajectory.

“Odin will want your answer within three sunrises.” Thor announces turning to Tony, his eyes never lifting from the floor, before he’s walking away dejectedly.

That night, Tony doesn’t join the others for dinner. Somewhere amongst the rhythmic ringing thwack of metal, Tony gathers his thoughts, and with each strike of the hammer he casts down his doubts. Back in those dusty, grit filled caves in Afghanistan; there was something he wanted. More than rescue, more than revenge – he wanted redemption. He got that chance when one man gave him everything, even when Tony wanted desperately to refuse it. Yinsen had made that choice for him, as he was stuck in that immovable hunk of scrap metal, left to live. Maybe Loki didn’t even want to be ‘tied’ to him, but then Tony sure as hell never wanted the guilt that Yinsen had left either. He couldn’t do it again. Watch someone else die for the sake of his life, it was his turn to do something selfish and self-sacrificing. If Loki would rather die, then that’s too bad, because Tony could see right through him. The god wanted a chance as much as he did, and it was Tony’s turn. So for mostly his own sake and for the sake of a god who was just as lost as he was, Tony made his decision.

***

Loki had chosen not to dine with the others that night. Preferring instead to reflect upon his actions. He hardly needed convincing that what he had done was abominable, and he was sure that knowing he deserved this punishment would make his fate easier to accept. He only ruminated now in a poor attempt to quash the desperation that threatened his dignity. He wanted to run to his intended. He would not beg, he was not that lowly but he wanted to shower him in truths and promises of loyalty and protection. Not for his life but simply to be able to have the bond he had wanted – needed, for what felt like an eternity. ‘He does not want you. You can do this for him.’ His mantra for this meditation. Loki thinks that if he can repeat it enough times he will be able to hold his head high at his execution. He hopes it will be swift. There is a knock at his door.

“Jarvis, if it is my brother please send him away.”

“It is sir who requests entrance.” Loki is a little surprised that Tony would want to see him. He thinks he should turn him away also, though he knows he can’t. He doesn’t want to hear whatever apology Tony might present to him. Loki had made it clear that Tony would not be obliged to ease his situation any, and that his situation would be accepted regardless of Tony’s involvement. Having been lost in his morbid thoughts, Loki obviously takes too long to answer for Stark, as the door clicks open and Tony waltzes in.

“Considerate of you to knock.” Loki murmurs.

“I checked with Jarvis to make sure you were decent.” Tony winks in way of compensation. “Look Loki…”

“I do not need your sympathies Stark.” Loki snaps. He simply couldn’t bear them. Tony shifts his weight a moment nervously before straightening and taking a few steps closer.

“You seriously do.” He says, voice full of gravity giving Loki no other choice but to listen. “I’m terrible to work with. Always endangering myself, and I suppose that means I’d be endangering you too. Pepper’s always telling me I’m a mess… but I’ll try not to make that your problem…” Tony quickly amends and Loki is left baffled.

“Tony you’re not…”

“You’re staying here.” Tony commands and there’s no room for argument but Loki does anyway. His words like the ocean crashing against the unmoving stone of a sea-wall.

“You don’t need to do this. I’ve accepted my fate.” He growls in retaliation.

“Well I haven’t!” Tony sounds annoyed now and Loki’s irritation subsides to a barely concealed disbelief. It is laced with a hope dredged from deep beneath his guilt, but which had seemingly also been just short of breaking the surface all this time.

“Tony I can’t…”

“Well you don’t have a choice. This is your punishment right? Guess you’ll just have to make the most of it.” Tony only has a moment to see the hurt in Loki’s expression, before the god is turning away.

“You’re right.” Loki whispers. “I am in no place to argue.” Tony sighs walking over to sit on the bed, beside his intended.

“Loki…” Tony tries for long-suffering but ends up with pleading, and Loki feels a traitorous fluttering in his chest that’s ready to give in to anything Tony might want. “I know you want this. Hell if I know why, but for a moment it actually looked like this was the chance you’ve been waiting for...” Loki scoffs self-deprecatingly, and he still refuses to look back at Tony. “…and as little as I know about this whole soulmates situation, I can tell that you and Thor, are grossly under-exaggerating the implications for my sake.” From what he’s gathered, Tony knows that this isn’t something casually discussed over coffee. He’s seen the respect the subject is addressed with, knows there must be some old, truly ancient, history behind it. Even the echoes and stories that managed to survive on Earth are proof of its sanctity. Loki himself is ancient – and that’s something he shouldn’t think too much about – but how long had the god wholly believed that there was someone out there intended entirely for him? How loyal would you have to be to want to be with them, even if that someone was a mortal, and would mean that your life was cut pitifully short? How strong would you have to be, to act against such an ancient desire, to choose to die even sooner, just because you believed yourself unworthy of them? How blind would you have to be to believe yourself unworthy of someone like Tony Stark? “I think this is a chance for both of us, and I’m a very opportunistic person…” Tony swallows the lump in his throat. “…but I need you to say now…” His voice has lowered as he tries to control it. “…If you want to share my life…” Tony’s only glad Loki can’t see how painful this next part is for him to say.

“…or if you’d rather die.” Tony shuts his eyes in order to concentrate on Loki’s reply, and doesn’t see him flinch. He needs to hear everything meant in the God’s following words. Loki’s voice is steady and so sultry it’s dripping with mocking.

“Hmm I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to be so blunt, but if you insist.” Loki hums. “I’d much rather die.” Loki’s voice doesn’t hesitate or waver, and Tony sighs with relief before looking up at the still turned away god. ‘Cruel to be kind’ he smirks, well two can play at that game. Tony leans forward so Loki can still hear when he drops his voice to whisper the truth, as if he had never heard Loki’s lie. Tony hears Loki’s small gasp, as his breath ghosts over the back of the god’s neck.

“I want to be your fated Loki.” Loki chuckles darkly but it’s suspiciously watery.

“You’re a terrible man Tony Stark, and a terrible liar.” Tony smiles as he strokes a thumb over Loki’s cheek, startling him into turning back. Loki looks confused, sulky, and just a little happy.

“That would be because the truth makes for a terrible lie. Although yours wasn’t much better, you must be getting rusty.” Tony jokes and this time Loki laughs, and it’s still confused but near blissful.

“I must need practice.” Loki hums.

“Loki, please let me do this?” Tony asks becoming more serious.

“I’d rather be ætla to a bilgesnipe.” Loki says straight-faced.

“That was worse than the last one.” Tony laughs, and Loki’s expression seems to have replaced the confusion with fondness.

“I hate you Tony.” Loki huffs. “…and I couldn’t possibly think of a worse way to spend the rest of my life.” Tony doesn’t remember the last time he was quite so fond either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haven't given up. I really love writing this story, and it's the entire reason I'm not going to drop it. Even though my uploading is so unreliable, I'm going to keep writing it, regardless if anyone's reading. So, if you don't mind waiting, feel free to tag along. Thank you for reading as far as you have, and I hope you enjoyed.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry I have both issues and a love/hate relationship with cliffhangers, they're my go-to device for suspense. I'll try to update on weekends. #Fakeittilyoumakeit #Toolegittoquit
> 
> My Old Norse Language Source: http://www.vikingsofbjornstad.com/Old_Norse_Dictionary_E2N.shtm  
> My Norse Mythology Source: http://www.viking-mythology.com/animals.php


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